


Home Is Where the Code Is

by AuroraWest



Category: Wreck-It Ralph (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 11:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16785961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraWest/pseuds/AuroraWest
Summary: If you're going to report a donnybrook over by the Whac-a-Mole, you might as well send Surge after the arcade's favorite pariah.





	Home Is Where the Code Is

“Aha! I should have known you were the one causing the problem.”

King Candy started, blinked, and squinted upside-down at the face glaring at him. “Sthorry, what?” he asked, returning his hands to their clasped position on his stomach. “Oh, Surge, do you mind just holding still? I didn’t realize how annoying that light was right behind you; it’s throwing off my whole napping game and you’re really helpfully blocking it.”

Surge Protector’s glare got stormier. “I most certainly will _not_. What are you up to over here?”

Raising an eyebrow—or was he lowering it, seeing as he was lying on a bench? No, no, that just sounded odd, and probably wasn’t a good physical description of what was happening—anyway, raising an eyebrow, King Candy said, “I thought I just made it pretty clear that I was napping, didn’t I? That’sth perfect, stay just like that.”

Surge’s eyes narrowed and he clicked his pen, then started scribbling something on his clipboard. “I got a report of malfeasance over here. Shady characters. You’re the only shady character I see, _ergo_ , you’re the one causing the problem.”

King Candy rolled his eyes. “ _Stellar_ reasoning there. No wonder you don’t get paid to do this job. Unless there’s a new rule about loitering that I haven’t heard about, I’m perfectly within my rights to sleep on this bench. Sort of completes the homeless bum aesthetic I’m going for. Since, you know, I _am_ homeless—again, I might add, hoo-hoo, you’d think I’d be used to it by now, wouldn’t you?—well, since I’m homeless, it only seems fitting that I play the part.”

For a long moment, Surge just stared down at him. Then, he clicked his pen shut and lowered the clipboard to his side. “So, you’re telling me you _aren’t_ causing any trouble.”

“Oy.” King Candy sat up. “You really catch on quick, don’t you?”

“If you aren’t causing trouble, then what are you doing over here?” The look on his face was still suspicious. “All your little…colleagues…are with the Fix-Its. Come to think of it, I didn’t see you when we were finding homes for everyone.”

Right. Taffyta had said he was going to hear about his little unexcused absence. He’d waved her off. He’d never been good at listening to people who thought they knew what was best for him. Or people who actually _did_ know what was best for him, for that matter, and Taffyta probably fell into the latter category. “Yes well, I imagine that’s because I wasn’t there.” He leaned back and adjusted his crown. “Nobody said it was mandatory.”

Surge looked around, like he was trying to spot someone doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. But when that failed, he put his pen carefully into his breast pocket. “It was only mandatory if you wanted a place to live. I don’t see how we’ll find anyone with room at this point, not when it was hard enough finding someone to take those little monsters—er, the other racers.”

Crossing one leg over the other and jiggling his foot, King Candy said, “Please. Haven’t we known each other too long to play these kinds of games? You and I _both_ know that even if every other inn _wasn’t_ full, no one would take me in. _Not_ ,” he said, raising his index finger, “that I’m interested in anyone taking me in.”

There was an uncomfortable look on Surge’s face, and King Candy hoped it meant he was going to find an excuse to leave. Preferably imminently, because he wasn’t really interested in having this conversation with Surge. Scratch that, he wasn’t really interested in having _any_ conversation with Surge. He wasn’t really interested in having any conversation with anybody, which had worked out pretty well until this point because as a rule, most people didn’t want to have a conversation with him. Even six years later, he was still the arcade pariah, and after the first couple years you learned not to let it get to you so much.

But Surge didn’t leave. Instead he did the _worst_ possible thing and sat down on the bench.

There was a long, awkward moment of silence, while Surge stared straight ahead at the opposite wall and King Candy, in turn, stared at Surge in disbelief. “Um, sorry, I think you must be confused. See, where you want to be is literally anywhere—” He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the other side of Game Central Station. “—besides here.”

Surge fiddled with his glasses. “It’s my job to find a place for all of you to live. Including you.”

“Yeah well, here’s the thing, Surgey.” Leaning his elbow on his knee—oh for coder’s—Surge was still pretending he was talking to the wall, instead of invading his personal space, physically and temporally speaking. King Candy drummed his fingers on his other knee. Did he need to get up and vacate the premises himself? And now he wasn’t sure where he’d been going with that sentence. Well, he _was_ , but he didn’t want to finish it.

Tapping his clipboard on his knees, Surge finally turned to look at King Candy. “Felix and Calhoun took in the rest of the racers. If we can find a place for all of _them_ to live, we can find a place for you.”

“Sorry, what? Felix and Calhoun took in _all fifteen_ of them?”

“I don’t think they realized it was fifteen when they agreed to it. A few of them weren’t there, like Vanellope—oh boy, is _she_ taking it pretty hard—”

“Hoohoohoo! Please tell me you’re joking. The _glitch_ is taking it pretty hard?” King Candy’s voice rose practically an entire octave in indignation. “It’s _her fault_ the game got unplugged! Her and—” _That barefoot oaf, that halitosis-ridden Neanderthal?_ Ugh, he was supposed to be kind of, sort of friends with Ralph now, and that meant he needed to confine the insults to his own internal monologue. “Her and Ralph,” he finished darkly.

Surge opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, “Well, what’s done is done.”

Drawing his feet up on the bench, King Candy said, “Yesth, and I reserve the right to be furious about it for months, if not years. I don’t need your help finding somewhere to stay. I lost my game once, and I took care of myself. I can do it again.”

“This is different.”

“Except for the fact that I wasn’t involved even peripherally this time, how so?” He glared at his own knees.

The wire running along Surge’s head spat blue sparks. Did that mean he was mad? King Candy hoped so. After a second, the other man said, “It’s different because we do things different here now. Back then it was, well, every character for himself. We take care of everyone now.”

“Oh yes, our kinder, _gentler_ arcade, what _would_ we do without you, Surge?”

“I’m trying to help,” Surge said sharply.

King Candy kept staring at his knees. “I told you. I don’t need help.”

There was another silence, interminable and uncomfortable, and finally, _finally_ , Surge got to his feet again. It was about sugar-frosted time. The last thing he needed was someone coddling him. Trying to _help_ him. He was Turbo, even if he’d ditched the 8-bit look. There was no taking away that he’d survived in the bowels of the arcade for ten years, and that was when his life had depended on everyone thinking he was dead. At least, that was how it had felt. No way to know for sure, he supposed. A couple people had taken a swing at him in the last six years since _Sugar Rush_ had reset, but no one had seemed really intent on murdering him.

Anyway, the point was, he’d survived the loss of a game under much more dire circumstances. He could handle this. He didn’t need help.

Except then, he’d had a plan, hadn’t he? Well, eventually. Not at first, because at first he’d been too filled with rage and heartbreak and grief to plan anything except his next hiding spot. It was only later, he supposed, that it had occurred to him that there were smarter ways to go _Turbo_ than rushing into a game screaming with pent up fury and guaranteeing that everyone would notice (of course that was the point wasn’t it, to get noticed), but furthermore guaranteeing that it would be exactly the wrong kind of noticing. So the plan had come later, much later, if he really starting thinking about it, than he usually cared to remember.

Like two or three years later, after he’d discovered a netherworld beneath Game Central Station that he’d had all to himself. Well, more or less. That was where he’d taught himself to code, and where he’d known that the only way to find a real home would be to take one for himself.

“Hey,” King Candy asked as Surge started to walk away. The security guard turned around. “How come you’re trusting me not to take over another game?”

“I don’t trust you one bit.”

“Oh.”

Surge fiddled with his glasses. “I got overruled when I said I wanted a guard on you twenty-four/seven.”

King Candy wasn’t sure whether he should be flattered that Surge thought he was still that dangerous or put out that…well, Surge still thought he was that dangerous. “I think my game-jumping days are over,” he said darkly.

Was it possible for someone to look more unimpressed and disbelieving that Surge did right then? Might be a way for King Candy to occupy himself during the long, empty hours that he now had to fill: find someone _more_ skeptical and bored with everything. Now _there_ was a challenge, hoo-hoo.

“Uh huh,” Surge said.

King Candy glared at him. “Y’know Surge, my game just got unplugged—”

“It’s not really your game.”

“ _Yes it was_.” Suddenly, King Candy was on his feet, drawn up to his full unimpressive height, his fists clenched at his sides and no memory of moving. Short-term memory loss, the first sign of dementia. No, he’d just made that up, but maybe. He certainly felt, right in that moment, that he might lose it. “ _You_ don’t get it. You’re not a character, you’ve never _had_ a game. You don’t get what it’s like to be hard-coded to something and then to _lose it_.”

Well, Surge didn’t look unimpressed anymore. He looked…surprised. Mildly. Then again, Surge only seemed to make use of a tiny fraction of the sliding scale of emotion that most people had access to, so mild surprise was a pretty big deal. He grabbed at his pen, clicked it open and shut a few times, and then adjusted his glasses. Then he opened his mouth…and closed it again. It wasn’t much of a chore to flummox Surge into silence, but King Candy still felt a flare of vicious smugness.

“Let me get this straight,” Surge said slowly.

“Ten seconds till he catches up,” King Candy muttered.

Surge ignored him. “You actually consider _Sugar Rush_ your game.”

Plopping back down on the bench, Kind Candy asked forlornly, “Why wouldn’t I? I’ve spent the last twenty years there. Twenty-one, actually, but who’s counting.” He took his crown off his head and stared at it, his reflection in the gleaming gold making him look even more cartoonish than the appearance he’d coded for himself. “Who knows, maybe—hoohoohoo—maybe it’s more home than where I came from.”

“ _TurboTime_. The game you destroyed.”

“Thanksth, Surge, I remember, but where would I be without your reminders?” With a sigh, he set his crown back on his head. “Do you know what I’m supposed to do now?”

_Click. Click. Click._ Talk about a nervous tick. King Candy was tempted to snatch that pen out of Surge’s hand. After a second—and more clicking—Surge cautiously sat back down on the bench. “I can’t say that I do.”

“Well, your honesty counts for something, I suppose.” Kicking at the ground, King Candy said, “Here’s what you should be saying, if you want to keep score. I can go hang out in _Tron_ or _Finish Line_ or _Crazy Taxi_. If I ask nicely, you know, let’s be topical, _extra_ nicely with a cherry on top, they’ll let me race there while the arcade’s closed.”

Surge stared at him. “It kind of seemed before like that was exactly what you _didn’t_ want me to say.”

King Candy sniffed. “I don’t. It’s just the kind of thing all of you _would_ say.”

“Look.” Surge removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “I can find you a place to live. I can’t find you a home.”

A glitch flickered from his feet up to this crown, and King Candy fingered the lace cuff of his shirt. “Honestly Surge—the only thing I want right now is…” A kart; a piece of candy; that ridiculous, wonderful game that he’d never had any right to and yet had become his in spite of everything. He sighed and didn’t finish the sentence. “If it’s all right with you,” he began instead, and he meant it sincerely, actually, “I’ll stay out here for now.”

Looking alarmed, Surge said, “You can’t live in Game Central Station.”

With a humorless smile, King Candy said, “Again, you mean?” Surge didn’t look amused, not that King Candy blamed him. It wasn’t much of a joke. Leaning an elbow on the arm of the bench, he said, “Maybe Felix can get me an apartment in his game. If the rest of the racers are living there, you know, I guess I’d feel at home with the chaos.”

Surge clicked his pen open and noted something on his clipboard, which King Candy craned his neck to read. Futilely, as it turned out, because Surge shifted it away just enough so he couldn’t. Then, he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’sth really not necessary.”

“It’s my job, so actually, it is.”

King Candy stared at him, his thumb hooked into the lapel of his jacket. “Oh. Well, then. If it’s just you doing your job…”

Standing up, Surge said in a business-like tone, “No other reason for me to do it. It’s not like I do favors for anyone here.”

“No.”

“Especially not you.”

“Obviousthly.”

“Hmph.” Surge stuck his pen back in his breast pocket and gave King Candy a crisp nod. “I’ll let you know.”

King Candy stared at him, and for just the tiniest, barest moment, the gaping ache in his chest contracted a little. The frayed edges that had stitched him to _Sugar Rush_ weren’t quite so ragged and coders this was stupid considering what a day it had been, but for the first time in…forever, he felt like _part_ of the arcade. Okay, so maybe not the first time in forever. Just the first time in thirty-one years.

Then the hole opened up again and threatened to swallow him, but he just blinked and took a breath. Held it. Let it out slowly through his nose. He’d been here before, but the difference was…well, the difference was that this time he wasn’t alone. Strange thought.

“Surge,” he said. When the other man turned to look at him, King Candy’s mouth twitched into a small twist of a smile. “I’ll be here, doing my best not to engage in any malfeasance. Well, at least, not _too_ much.”

Surge sniffed in exasperation and walked away, and King Candy laid back down on the bench, kicking his legs out and crossing one over the other. He stared up at the ceiling of Game Central Station, and the way a single shaft of moonlight gleamed softly from the windows high above. Morning would come and if the hackneyed clichés were to be believed, he’d feel a little better about things. Well, who knew, right? Maybe he would.


End file.
